It Is Never Simple, But It Is Sure Worth It
by iamjohnlock
Summary: Sherlock has the whole day to spend with Hamish, after failing to have fun playing Cluedo with him he texts John to see what to do. Sherlock discovers a passion Hamish has and the conversations turn to the serious side as Hamish decides to open up to the father he always had a bit of a hard time getting close to. Written with Lurkerviolin.


Hamish called me stupid. - SH

Well were you being stupid? -JW

And did you call him a name prior? Don't lie. -JW

No!… I may have said he was being childish, but he's a child! And I'm not stupid. - SH

Does that make him a liar too? Should I wash his mouth out with soap? - SH

No Sherlock! Stop playing Cluedo with Hamish it always ends like this! I will talk to him tonight when I get home. In the mean time do something with him that doesn't involve battling your wits. Take him to the park. -JW

You mean outside? - SH

What would we do in the park? - SH

Yes Sherlock, it is a beautiful day. It isn't supposed to rain at all. And you play. You run about and have fun. Bring a football, or a kite, or anything. Believe it or not there are no rules to a park. -JW

…John, I never played in the park. If you can tell I'm not extraordinarily athletic. - SH

You could've fooled me with your performance last night… -JW

Very funny, John. I'm sure that would be against the rules to the park. - SH

Well just stay at home then and let Hamish bake something, he likes that. Watch him though Sherlock, make sure you watch him. -JW

Why? He's perfectly capable of… Wait,does this have to do with what happened to my last beaker set? - SH

He is 9 Sherlock, he is brilliant but when you let a 9 year old go on his way with stuff like that… -JW

Fine, fine. We'll bake something. Any ideas, oh wise, child tamer? - SH

Hey, just because I have an easier way of getting along with children than you doesn't mean you need to sass me, and just give him a cook book. It'll be more fun that way for him. -JW

I wasn't sassing. I'm just saying. - SH  
Are there rules to this? - SH

Don't try and take over! But you are in charge of any of the oven stuff. And for the love of god Sherlock be careful, if i have to come home from a long day of treating "the sniffles" just to tend to some burn wounds, on either of you, I will not be happy. -JW

Yes, Dr. Watson. - SH

Sherlock sat in his chair holding his violin for a moment longer before returning it to it's case, "Hamish, come back in here a moment." He said, standing.

Hamish rolling his eyes got up and walked out of his room into the hall, "I will not play you in a rematch Dad, give it a rest." he called towards the lounge.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed, but he bit his tongue. "We're not playing a game," He put his hands determinedly on his hips, "We're going to bake something."

Hesitantly, because he was still rather upset at his father, Hamish made his way into the lounge. He stood there for a moment before saying, "well, what is it we are going to bake?"

Sherlock shrugged, "I haven't the faintest." He marches into the kitchen, "Where are the cook books?"

"I have them in my room," Hamish said immediately as he turned on the spot and ran back down the hall. He returned momentarily with a few large books with several post-it notes sticking out at every end.

Sherlock paused at the sight of the obviously well loved books, "…Did John buy you all these?" He flipped open one of the books, reading the notes in 9 year old scrawl.

"I save up my chore money for them," Hamish said fiddling with his shirt feverishly as he saw his father reading what he had written next to a baked alaska flambe and how it was beautiful and only a dish to be shared only by people who were in love. He got nervous about sharing his emotion towards his interests like this. "I like to look through them when I can't sleep…"

Sherlock looked down at his son and could feel the soft look growing on his face. "Noted." He knew what Hamish would be getting for Christmas. He sat down at the kitchen table, absent of an experiment for now, "I like your annotations, Hammy." He said, testing out John's nickname for the boy. He pointed to the Alaska flambe, "Is this something you wanted to make?" He asked quietly.

Hamish looked up quickly at the sound of his father calling him Hammy. He rather enjoyed that name, he frequently got bullied for being called Hamish, not like he was going to tell his fathers that though, and maybe now that Sherlock was calling him Hammy everyone might start. "Yes," He replied, he did want to make the flambe. It seemed challenging and fun, but he wanted to make it for the right reason, "For you and dad… For tonight…"

Sherlock wasn't sure what to call what he felt in that moment, but it made his chest constrict with… sweetness. He smiled softly, petting Hamish's cheek, "That's… that's very nice." He said. He knew some kids were avoided thinking of how much their parents loved each other (if they did), and it warmed him to hear that Hamish thought something a simple as a desert should be reserved like that. "Tell you what," He stood, "How about we make dinner too?"

Hamish's face broke into a grin, "I have got the perfect thing!" He grabbed the book on the bottom of the pile and flipped to a page with a simple roasted chicken in a lemon seasoning on it, he quickly tore off the post-it before turning the book around to show his dad, he didn't want Sherlock to see that he had once scrawled down that he 'believed this dish could solve any problems between two hearts because it had such simplicity but it took a lot of thought to make it just right.'

Sherlock's eyes easily tracked the note, but decided not to press the issue. If Hamish didn't want him to read he wouldn't… for now, anyway. He quickly looked back to the book, "Roasted chicken? Sounds lovely." He'd started to eat more regularly since Hamish had been around, and well… Perhaps it wasn't so bad. He looked up, "What about sides? Do we need to go shopping?" He ate more, he didn't cook more.

"Dad and I did shopping yesterday and we have things, probably everything-" Hamish quickly took off rummaging around the kitchen opening and closing cupboard doors, glancing in the refrigerator, and barely pausing to take a breath. He had memorized most of the recipes in those books, well his favorites at least, so he knew everything he needed. He went back to the refrigerator one last time and stopped dead, "Milk. The only thing we don't have is milk," Hamish turned back around to face Sherlock, "Why don't we ever have any milk?"

"It's a curse." Sherlock wiggled his fingers teasingly. "Your Dad is cursed to fight with chip-and-pin machines and the flat is cursed to never have milk." He stood with the book in his hands, setting the oven to the correct temperature, "Ask Auntie Martha for some?" He suggested, knowing Mrs. Hudson would be more partial to Hamish than to him.

Smiling Hamish nodded and left the flat to go down stairs where Mrs. Hudson lived. Hamish loved Mrs. Hudson, he could talk to her about nearly anything and she would always make him feel better, plus she always had sweets to give him. After about 5 minutes of chatting Hamish returned to the flat holding a half empty jug of milk and a mouth full of sweets.

Sherlock clucked his tongue. That woman was going to give him cavities. "Right then," He held out a lab coat, having no aprons to use, it was the best he could do. "Where do we start?"

Hamish laughed at the lab coat but pulled it on excitedly, he was so happy his dad was going to spend time with him doing the things that _he_ liked. "Well first we have to make the seasoning for the chicken and marinate it /obviously/ and then we can prepare everything for the flambe so it is ready and waiting. It is all about timing daddy," He paused, he usually didn't call Sherlock daddy. He rarely even called John that except when he was feeling ill or a bit attention-needing. He looked up at Sherlock hoping he didn't mind, because he just knew Sherlock noticed.

Sherlock felt his heart kick. The last time Hamish had called him 'daddy' he'd been teary eyed and running a high fever. This was obviously a different context, though, so… He smiled. It was nice to see the light in his son's eyes, directed at _him_ for once. He was learning and it was getting him the title 'daddy'. Huh. How quaint. "Ok, Hammy, ok," He laughed as he washed his hands, "What do you want me to do?"

Relaxing at his fathers reaction Hamish allowed himself to get excited again, "okay wash the chicken that is in the refrigerator, I am going to make the seasoning!" Hamish gathered all of the things he would need and pulled a chair up to the counter because although he was very tall for his age he still couldn't reach at a comfortable level. He crawled up onto the chair and began measuring everything out very carefully.

It was hard not to be impressed with the nine year old's ability as Sherlock watched him easily measure out the ingredients. He turned to the refrigerator; wash the chicken? Obviously not with soap so… "Hammy?" He held the chicken carefully as he turned to the boy, "Wash it… just with water?"

"Well of course dad!" Hamish turned slightly to see Sherlock standing beside the open refrigerator holding the raw chicken in his hands looking almost childlike, he let out a laugh, "Just rinse it in the sink for a minute," he pointed, "then pat it dry with one of those paper towels." he was still giggling, but trying very hard to hide it. Seeing Sherlock stumped was a rarity.

Sherlock pouted a little, "Cooking is not my area, yes?" He nudged Hamish with his elbow before turning. He thoroughly rinsed the chicken under the sink for a moment before reaching and setting it in a clean (enough) pan, "Everything ok over there?"

"Yes, it is great, it is perfect," Hamish stepped off the chair carrying a small bowl full of the concoction he just created and carried it over to the chicken pouring it over top with great precision watching all of the oil and herbs making sure they disbursed evenly. After he decided it was perfect Hamish stepped back and smiled grabbing the hand of Sherlock who had been standing there watching him.

Sherlock clasped his son's hand, smiling though confused, "What?" He said, meeting his gaze.

"You and Dad are really going to enjoy this," He replied his massive grin apparent in his voice.

"I'm sure we will, Mr. Chef." He agreed, "But just us?" The man smiled as he leaned down to press a kiss to the top of Hamish's head, "No, dear boy, you have to eat, too!"

"Well…" Hamish wasn't going to say anything just yet but he couldn't keep it in much longer, "I told Mrs. Hudson what we were doing and she's going to feed me tonight," Hamish paused for a moment to try and read Sherlock's expression, and almost impossible feat, "It is just you two tonight… because you need it…" He bit his lip waiting for Sherlock's response.

Sherlock kept his expression blank, and appropriately so. He didn't know how to respond to that. He tried to recall if he and John had done something to make Hamish worry recently, but they hadn't been acting /that/ out of the ordinary, had they? He thought something clicked in his head then, and he turned to face Hamish completely. "Hammy, did something happen at school?" Being the only kid at school with two dads couldn't have been easy, but if the boy had been led to think they were splitting up… Sherlock felt sick at the thought. "Did someone say something?"

Hamish tried very hard to hide the fact that he had two dads from the rest of the kids at school because just last year a gay teacher resigned from bullying, and Hamish didn't want that kind of attention attached to his fathers. He personally didn't see anything wrong with it, he loved having two fathers, he never knew anything different. But a week or so ago one of his class mates saw him out with John and Sherlock doing shopping for new lamps, considering Sherlock had melted them in his latest experiment. The kid heard Hamish calling both John and Sherlock dad and had spread the word very quickly. The kids at school said many many things to him, but one thing in particular stuck in a soft spot in Hamish's mind. After several minutes of debating Hamish decided to just tell his father, what is the worst that could happen, "Because you're gay it means you aren't actually in love. And so you're going to split up."

Sherlock struggled to keep the anger out of his eyes for his son's sake, not wanting the boy to misread it. He'd love to get a hold of the parents of whatever little twat had said that. He'd had his fill of fighting with people- no, not people, _idiots _on behalf of his relationship with John. It took him a long time to admit his feelings for the man, and an even longer time to actually act on them. He loved John (and Hamish) more than anyone in the world. He'd go to the ends of the earth to keep this little family he's found. Why were people so _dense_? Being 'gay', (if he even was, John may be a special case), was irrelevant. He loved his family just as much as everyone else. He sighed, kneeling down in front of Hamish, "Hammy, listen to me," He looks seriously into the boy's eyes, "I love you daddy very, very much. It doesn't matter that he's a man and I'm a man, we love each other very much and we're going to spend the rest of our lives together." He kisses the boy's head again, "Don't worry about what some moron at school said." He hugs him, "You'll always have both your daddies, ok?"

That brought another thought into Hamish's mind, one that he had pushed back, very very far back into his memory. A book Sherlock had given him a while back about biology briefly explained the creation of 'babies' be it humans or animals in a very scientific way. Hamish didn't really understand it to the full but he was a very smart child and understood enough to have doubt, "that's just it," he hesitated, was this too much opening up? He started to feel sick, but continued on, "who is my dad?"

Sherlock felt his stomach drop at the question. He and John had been braced for it for a long time, and he had their story committed to memory. He sat down on the floor and motioned for Hamish to follow, offering him a place under his arm "I take it you won't accept 'we both are' as an answer, hm?" He offers.

"It's not possible.." He said back his voice quivering a bit as he tried not to cry. He didn't take to seat next to Sherlock, instead he sat down on the floor directly below where he stood so he was facing his father. He did not make eye contact with Sherlock for he thought he might cry if he did. For a while before this he tried to make himself decide who he would /want/ to be his real father, but he couldn't bring himself to it, next he tried to make himself comfortable with the fact that neither of them could be, but he couldn't do that either so he pushed the thought far far away. All up until now, and he feared his repressed emotions would take the best of him is he was not careful.

Sherlock frowned, letting his arm fall to his side, "Well…" His heart was breaking at the sight of tears in his son's eyes, and it was making it hard to focus. He crossed his legs as he turned to face his son. The truth was painful. He wanted to leave the secret buried with the persons it belonged to, he wanted to delete it from his mind… But never could. They'd known this day would come, and tied to prepare, to fake it, but… God, he was nine years old, he didn't deserve that back story. Sherlock pursed his lips, "I guess it really depends if you want to know who your _father_ is or your _daddy_ is…"

Hamish looked up letting his tears fall out of his eyes and down his cheeks, "What do you mean?" he chocked.

Sherlock reached into his lab coat, handing the boy a tissue. He didn't want to crowd him if he wasn't ready to be touched. "I'm sure you know about where babies come from, yes? That's what brought this on? Well then," He settled himself, trying to look more relaxed than he felt, "Mothers and fathers have to get together to have babies. You and me and John and everyone else in the world came from a mother and a father. But," He emphasized the word, pointing at Hamish, "Having mommies and daddies is different. Mommies and daddies don't _just_ make the babies, they don't even have to make them at all." He looks up absently, "Mommies and daddies take _care_ of the babies - raise them up. They feed and clothe and spoil," He smirks slightly, "the babies. They love them, and hold them when they're sad, and laugh with them and give them a _home_. Whether they have a daddy and a mommy, or two mommies, or two daddies or anything else…" He looks at Hamish then, "So, no, you might not have a mother and a father." He reaches out to him again, "But you do have two daddies who love you very much."

Hamish really liked this explanation, he wanted to be completely content with that being the only explanation, but he couldn't. He still had an awful gnawing pain in the pit of his stomach and before he knew what he was doing he asked, "But are you my _real_ father?"

Sherlock's smile dimmed a little, and he considered lying. He was sure he could do it and Hamish would be none the wiser. He did have his eyes… But Sherlock sighed. "No, Hammy, I'm not." He answered softly, "John and I…" He pursed his lips, unsure of how to proceed with a child. "Your father… wanted you to have a home. He wanted you to have a daddy, and a life that he knew he couldn't give to you." He looked down at his hands, "He was a good man, but he was… troubled. He didn't want you to have to pay for that." He looked back to Hamish then, "He knew John and I wanted a baby. And that we'd love you and protect you for him… We never meant to cause you any pain, Hammy, please know that."

Hamish's heart broke, out of all of the possible outcomes having no father was his least favorite. But as he looked up into Sherlock's eyes seeing true and proper agony he realized that wasn't the case. He had a father, he had two. Two 'daddies'. No matter what the biology books or the kids at school said, his fathers were better than most kids got in 'normal' parents. Hamish wiped his face with the tissue Sherlock had given him and crawled forwarding making himself small in Sherlock's lap, "I do love you," he forced out between heavy breaths, "I do, daddy."

Sherlock's chest felt less crushed at that, and he wrapped his arms around _his_ son. "I know, dear, I do," He rests his chin on Hamish's head, "And we love you, too. Very much." He peeks down at him, "Do you understand? You _are_ our son, and we love you no less because of where you came from. We _love_ you, Hamish."

Hamish didn't respond he just nodded, all he wanted was to be held by _his_ dad. He just needed to be held.


End file.
